


Prison Break

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, M/M, ooc robots and aliens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Speedwriting prompt: "Prison Break."</p><p>Also for Ultharkitty, who is special, and always being helpful <3</p><p>Swindle winds up in an institution for the criminally insane. But surprises are in store. This may get more chapters.</p><p>"WARNINGS* Violence, a rather nasty mental institution, sexual exhibitionism, implied deaths of ooc aliens and Vortex/Swindle bickering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prison Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ultharkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/gifts).



Eerie moans and wails filed the air as the inmates of maximum security at Descantes, a world solely dedicated to the detention of the criminally insane, milled endlessly around the concourse in front of the guards’ station. From the safety of his cell, Swindle watched with dismay the shuffling forms, the helpless, vacant expressions brought about mainly by mindwipe or medication.

Nearby, a grounder rocked continuously, clutching at his chipped panels as he moaned an incessant mournful dirge. From the cell next door came a steady banging, the occupants usual routine of slamming his helm into the wall. Swindle shuddered.  It was no good. This was the end of the line.

He was not mad, but he soon would be. Or, he would die. In essence, if not physically.

There was a noise out among the throng. The cackling exhibitionist flyer, a recent new addition to Swindle’s cell, had leapt on to the stone table and stood with wings spread and arms spread, uttering upwards to some unseen peer or deity. Swindle watched as the mech’s interface panel sprung open, and a black twitching cable snaked out, sparking.

A commotion broke out as the other inmates converged on the table. Metal squealed and a wail broke out as they reached up, hands clawing, the contents of many other panels spilling out. In an instant the guards were out of the station. There were heavy footsteps, shouts. A hum began as their electro-prods powered up.

The crowd drew back, whimpering and pleading, well knowing the power of the prod. Some fell to the ground. Surprisingly, the guards let them go, save for a few whose screams no doubt served as an entertaining ‘reminder.’ Swindle watched as the flier, now on his knees and beseeching, was pulled  off the table and hauled away.

A shrill siren sounded; then came the gruff voice of the head guard over the tannoy. “Right, you lot! Lockdown. And no privileges!”

Swindle heaved a sigh of relief. As the army of broken mechs shuffled in his direction, he closed his own door, retreating to his bunk. At least he would have some peace. Some time to try and figure out if, by any small streak remotely possibly in the known universe, Onslaught had not deserted him. Or, given that he probably had, if Swindle could find a way out of here.

……….

Swindle awoke suddenly, intakes hissing in the cold darkness. His cellmate had not returned. This was hardly surprising. Mechs had a habit here of disappearing after transgressions. They came back vacant, zombified. If they came back at all. Swindle had a distinct feeling the flier wouldn’t.

It seemed unnaturally quiet. He should use this time to evaluate, to think up a strategy. Which of the guards was most likely susceptible to bribery? And it was then, just as he was about to turn his processor once again to the task of relief from this ghastly predicament, that he heard it, the steady rasp of intakes which weren’t his. A dull clunk followed. Swindle was not alone.

The Combaticon froze. Why had he not heard a new cellmate come in? A system check revealed a grogginess, his output at less than full function. They must have drugged him. Yes, they did that after an 'incident.' That sour energon cup, their ‘allowance’ after the fracas. It must have been that. It explained the eerie silence, the lack of sound from next door.

More noises came from below, however, and now there was a restless rustling, more clunks and a scraping sound. Swindle froze. What had they put in here? NOW what was he gonna do?

Swindle had one of his ‘moments of self recrimination.’ He should have been nicer on Earth. Not filled his team mates with the need to land him here. They should have taken him with them, back to Char. Not left him to take the rap for the slaughtered Octacons, to be beaten by the Delta Pavonus authorities before being brought to this hellhole.

“You’ll get yours!” Vortex had said back on Earth, after the spare parts 'incident,' when Onslaught hadn’t punished him. “The best things come to those who wait.”

Then Swindle was angry again that his apologies ever since had fallen on deaf audials, at the injustice of this scenario. Perhaps he did not regret so much the spare parts incident after all!

More restless noises came form the berth below. Swindle determined of one thing.  He was not ‘getting his’ without knowing who from! He was gonna lean over the berth in a moment, and confront his new cell mate, and tell whatever moronic brute it was they had a Combaticon to contend with! He would go down fighting. Onslaught might even feel guilty when his inert frame arrived in a casket.

More scraping, followed by a muttered curse. Then there was a clunking and clicking, as though whoever it was tried in the cramped space below to get transformation cogs aligned.  But now, Swindle frowned. Was it his imagination – or was there something oddly familiar about the sounds? Unable to stem his sudden curiosity, Swindle leaned cautiously over the edge.

A black rotor hub confronted him, the owner squirming underneath it, his quest for comfort a sure failure on the impossibly undersized berth. Rotors twitched, agitatedly, Swindle watched as the tip of one made a gouge in the wall. “Frag this pit!” said the copter.

Swindle could only stare, not knowing whether to be relieved or glad or filled with dread.

‘Vortex?’ he whispered eventually.

……………

“So they nailed you with the Octacons after all then Tex!”

Now it had become clear that his former team mate was not about to do him any immediate damage - even though in this situation that would have been somewhat tricky - Swindle felt better.  And rather smug. “Or have you, like, finally lost it?” he whispered. After all, this was hardly beyond the impossible either.

“Course I haven’t!” Vortex hissed back. “D’you really think any kinda self respecting mech who was gonna go to jail would get banged up in a place like this?”

The smile disappeared from Swindle’s face. How typical of Vortex to come out with a ‘dig.’ “I didn’t exactly have a choice!” he hissed. “A certain mech or mechs set me up!”

To his added infuriation, there was a low chuckling. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think they’d exactly take the bait. Just wanted to put the wind up you a bit. I mean - just shows how dumb they are. Thirteen dead Octacons. Dismembered! As if you’d be capable of a stunt like that!”

“Oh Yeah?”  Swindle was riled now, even though he knew the consequences of this were usually unfortunate, even without their current situation. “I’ll have you know that when we were on Char I killed a Sharkticon. Single handed!"

“So you say!” Vortex said. “One? Pitiful!”

Swindle went to retort but was quiet as the hollow sounds of the guard’s approaching footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. He waited until they had passed and died away, trying to think up the thing most likely to get under the copter's plating.

“Anyway, you ain’t so smart!" he hissed. "Look at you now? You’re gonna have to be nice to me in here you know! Have you seen the size of those prods? There’s a pecking order. Likelihood of punishment based on length of stay!” It was lame. And it wasn’t really true. But it was the best Swindle could come up with.

“As a matter of fact the prods were disappointing,” Vortex said. “Anyway, I ain't here to sample the brutal and unjust treatment of the criminally insane or watch them let you have it – temping though both those may be. I’m here on a mission. …” he hesitated. “I’ve come to bust you out.”

Swindle nearly laughed. Then, he was slightly chuffed. Onslaught hadn’t deserted him! Then, he was cross again. It would be just like Vortex to take the piss out of this miserable predicament , to cover his own ineptitude. Doubtless, Vortex _was_ here over the Octocons.  “How you gonna do that?” he snapped. “In case you hadn’t heard, nobody ever makes it off Descantes alive. Not by conventional escape, anyway. As a matter of fact I was forumlating my own 'approach!'”

Vortex snorted. “Yeah! right,” he said. “But no go. Somehow I gotta pull this off. Onslaught was pissed at me for setting you up. Says I gotta 'move on,' make it up and prove my 'initiative.' About the Octos – he said that kinda fun should be reserved for more worthwhile causes. So – sorry, but you gotta rely on me."

Swindle peered over the edge of the berth again to see the copter’s optics glowing like coals. Even in the darkness of the cell, and even though his freedom was, indeed, probably the last thing which would have motivated Vortex, Swindle could decipher a grin.

"Blast’s orbiting this place as we speak," he said, "with Ons and Brawl. So you gonna keep your mouth shut about the rest? Or you gonna help me?” 


End file.
